Chapter Text
The call came when Anthony J. Crowley was just turning onto the street for his London flat.
It had cost an arm and a leg to get a proper stereo phone put in place without wrecking the interior of the Bentley, but Crowley had an arm and a leg to spare. He’d just wrapped filming on Hallows’ Eve V, and IV was grossing high. His agent Hastur was certain the next contract offer would go through IX. To Crowley it seemed a bit excessive, but what more could he want? What more could he ask for?
He’d made a career out of playing demons, after all.
He tapped to bring up the call and Hastur’s sinister, scratchy voice squirmed out into the slick leather interior.
“Crowley,” it said. “I’ve got a role for you.”
“Is this the Star Wars thing?”
“I told you, the Star Wars thing’s never happening. Not for you. Even I can’t do miracles, and that’d take one hell of a miracle. But you’ll like this one.”
That was ominous – no telling what Hastur thought he’d like. Crowley tried to swallow down his disappointment. He’d known the lead in Star Wars was a long shot. Sure, the director had winked and raised her glass at him from across the room last month, but everybody knew that ladies winked at Crowley left and right. It was his job to wink back, not to dream of a role that was, after all, meant for a hero. “What is it?”
“It’s a series adaptation of some book. Something called…” There was the faint scratch of paper over the line as Hastur pulled out a note to read. “Nice and Accurate Prophecies, by Agnes Nutter.”
“Never heard of it.”
“The producer says people love it in a certain… niche. People with plenty of money to throw around.”
“So what’s the role?”
“You’d be playing a demon.”
Of course. “Have they cast the protagonist yet?”
“You are the protagonist.”
Crowley blinked. He knew all of those words, but said in that order, to him, they somehow seemed unreal. “Pardon?”
“Well, it’s got dual protagonists. Equal billing.”
“Two protagonists, and one of them’s me?”
“That’s what I said.” Hastur was beginning to sound exasperated, which was often his state when dealing with Crowley. Crowley suspected this held true for all his clients. “And they’ve cast the other one already, so at least you’ll know what you’re getting into.”
“And who have they cast?”
“Aziraphale Fell.”
Crowley’s brain went offline.
Luckily his hands kept steering until he was parked safely in front of the flat, whereupon he dropped his head back dramatically against the headrest. Several deep breaths later, Hastur’s voice chimed in again: “Crowley?”
“Yeah, all right, thanks much. I’ll take it.”
“Don’t you want to read –”
“Ciao.” Crowley jabbed the button to send the voice away.
Alone in the silence of the dark night, Crowley allowed the reality of the situation to overwhelm him. Could he possibly have been dreaming? But he’d never managed to catch himself aware in a dream before, and however much he tried to wake up now, he found himself still in the cold car instead of his warm bed. For once, he preferred it that way.
Aziraphale Fell had lived in his mind rent-free for six years now. For six years, Crowley had scoured the industry for any hint of a role opposite him, even a villain. (Especially a villain, for those were the roles Crowley had no trouble in getting.) Even just one scene. For six years, Aziraphale had stuck to his usual historical biopics and mentorly walk-ons. There was no room for Crowley in those projects. So he kept searching.
He had never told his agent. For some reason, his fascination with Aziraphale had felt too private to share with Hastur, even with the highest possible payoff. And in the end, it hadn’t been necessary after all.
He’d been offered a role opposite Aziraphale Fell.
A protagonist role.
Now all he had to do was make it through months of production without letting on the massive, earth-shaking, world-altering crush he had on his costar.
He groaned and tipped his head forward, resting it against the steering wheel. How in the blazes was he going to pull this off?
Strains of classical music made their way out from under the office door as Aziraphale brought his tea up from the kitchen.
He was just settling back into the chair, opening his book on his lap, when the large rotary phone on the desk began to ring. With one final longing glance at the book’s cover, he answered.
“Aziraphale,” came the clipped tones of his sister, Michael. ”We’ve found your next role.”
It wasn’t a question. It was never a question. As the head of Celestial Studios, Gabriel Archer decided on his brother Aziraphale’s next move. This was communicated to their sister Michael, who played the role of “neutral agent concerned for your well-being” so nicely she could have won one of Aziraphale’s Oscars. And Michael relayed it on to Aziraphale.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?”
He found the words she was undoubtedly looking for: “Thank you.” And then, although it hardly mattered, he asked, “What’s the role?”
“It’s… creatively structured,” said Michael. “Not one of your usuals. Genre. Dual protagonists, minimal antagonist involvement. No love interest – not that you’re particularly accustomed to those.”
He winced. There were numerous reasons for that annoying little fact, but she didn’t have to say it so bluntly. He knew he was hardly the ideal of a heartthrob leading man. And if there was one reason in particular that people didn’t find him believable opposite women… well. That reason was buried down very deeply, where Gabriel wanted it. And the tabloids would never confirm it one way or another.
“It’s through Celestial. You’ll be playing one of the protagonists.”
“Who’s the other?”
“Genre actor. Anthony J. Crowley. Does mostly villain work, science fiction, horror. He’ll be our demon.”
“A demon protagonist? My goodness.”
“Yes, we’re aware some Christian groups might have a problem with it. We’re already working to mitigate the damage.”
Since when does Celestial take risks? he wanted to ask, but instead he asked, “Am I a demon as well, then?”
Michael gave a short, unpleasant laugh at the idea. Aziraphale couldn’t help but feel a little hurt – maybe he wasn’t particularly dangerous or scary by default, but he could be, right? Wasn’t he a good actor? Wasn’t that the whole point of all this? “No. You’ll be playing an angel.”
Something sparked familiarity inside him. “A… demon and an angel, working together?”
“I know. Controversial.” (Which hadn’t at all been his point.) “But somebody somewhere really wants this film made.”
“It isn’t an adaptation, by any chance?” It couldn’t possibly be what he was thinking.
“Yes, actually. You’ve heard of it? Something called Nice and Accurate Prophecies. Author named Agnes Nutter.”
Aziraphale sat bolt upright in his chair. “You’re serious?”
“Yes. So you are familiar.”
“Of course I am!” He could feel himself bouncing slightly and didn’t care to stop. “Michael, this is one of the most rare and interesting books of the last century. All the copies except one were destroyed in an explosion. The remaining copy is kept safe by the author’s descendants… no one’s been permitted to view it in decades! All we know of the story is a summary and the details leaked out in reviews by Nutter’s contemporaries. I can’t believe they’re actually adapting it! This, ah… this is authorized by the book’s owners and Nutter’s estate, yes?”
“It is. We’ve had numerous… dealings with the descendant you’re talking about. I can assure you we have her complete approval.”
“Oh, good! Do you suppose we’ll get to view the book?”
“I have no idea, and I wouldn’t think too much about it. Aziraphale? Go prepare for your interview tonight. Gabriel wants promotional photos.”
Aziraphale grimaced. He limited his interviews as much as he possibly could, even going so far as to write it into his contracts with other studios, but Celestial was its own beast and never gave him concessions. “Yes, all right.” Michael probably just wanted to quiet him – his rare books hobby was not well-looked-upon by the rest of the family. “Send over the script as soon as you have it, yes?”
“Of course. Take care.”
It was a meaningless business platitude layered over a real threat: Take care of our asset, the award-winning actor who belongs to us and must never have his career endangered lest it lead to our financial loss. He understood and sidestepped it neatly. “And you as well.”
As soon as the call ended, he booted up the desktop computer and refreshed his knowledge of Prophecies. The information about it was scant – an angel and a demon work together to avert Armageddon, saving the world. Something about the Antichrist, which would be interesting when fundamentalist groups heard about the release (especially the Americans). Something about ‘choose your faces wisely’ and a dog. That was about all anyone knew.
Anyone, that is, except Agnes Nutter’s descendants, who had apparently been to the studio causing all manner of trouble. Michael’s tone when referring to their dealings told Aziraphale all he needed to know. The relationship between Celestial and the descendant was difficult at best. Still, perhaps he could manage to get on her good side. She might even let him see the book!
Opening a new window, he idly typed in the name ‘Anthony J. Crowley.’ A number of images popped up from different roles, most of them showing off brightly-colored CGI eyes in a wide variety of hues. But there were a few red carpet photos as well of a man in a handsome suit with flaming red hair and dark glasses.
He looked… familiar, somehow. And not only from the screen.
Aziraphale went back to his book, but all night the thought remained in the back of his mind and would not cease. Even through the excitement of Prophecies, the question kept returning:
How on Earth did he know Anthony J. Crowley?